


What Made You

by Traxits



Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII
Genre: Drunk confessions, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-09
Updated: 2016-07-09
Packaged: 2018-07-22 05:57:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,798
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7422568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Traxits/pseuds/Traxits
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At one-thirty in the morning, Above Platers like Tseng should be in bed.  At one-thirty in the morning, they should definitely <i>not</i> be knocking on Reno's door.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What Made You

**Author's Note:**

> For bonus musical inspiration for this fic, I should probably disclose that I wrote the whole thing to “Evening on the Ground,” by Iron & Wine.
> 
> Originally posted [here](http://traxits.tumblr.com/post/146485075037/14-things-you-said-when-you-were-drunk-tseng) on my Tumblr.

It wasn’t that Reno didn’t like the apartment.  It was just that he liked having it to himself.  He liked having the privacy, space.  He’d never known a single person could have that much space to call their own before.

(It wasn’t anything like Tseng’s apartment.  Or Reeve’s.  Or any of the other executives’.  Their apartments were obscene they were so big, and Reno felt like if he screamed in them, the sound might echo.  That was too much space.  Too much room for any one person.  The apartment he had, with the bathroom in the back and the narrow kitchenette that spilled into the living room that doubled as his bedroom was plenty.  More than he’d ever had before.)

So when there was a knock at his door, Reno went still.  He glanced up from the book he’d been working through, his eyes on the door as he waited.  He didn’t invite people to this apartment.  To his space.  He met with them at their place or in public.  Not here.

The knock came again, heavier this time, and there was a low voice with it.  Reno frowned, glanced over at the clock, and then back to the door.

At one-thirty in the morning, people Above were supposed to be in bed.

(It wasn’t like Below.  It wasn’t like the party areas that Reno had frequented, that he’d worked so heavily before he’d run into Tseng.  The pulse and rhythm of the Plate were strange here, an echo in their lives instead of the driving force.  These people still lived by the sun as best they could instead of by Midgar’s lights.  If they’d ever lived Below, they’d have known better.  The sun came and went.  The Plate was unyielding.  Unmoving.  It was the one constant over their heads.)

At one-thirty in the morning, Reno was not supposed to hear Tseng’s muffled voice through his door.

He shoved a hand through his hair, tucked his book under the edge of the couch where Tseng wouldn’t see it, and headed over to answer the door.  He took half a step back and nearly let Tseng crash into the floor before he realized that Tseng was drunk.  Reno caught him, glanced down at him, then down the hallway before he pulled Tseng inside and shut the door.

“Th’ hell?” he muttered, and Tseng reached out to brace one hand against the back of the couch.  "Boss, you–  Tseng.“

Tseng stood there, reeking of whiskey and beer, of something…  Reno’s eyes narrowed as he twisted the lock for the door.  Tseng didn’t move, just stood there, his eyes closed, mouth parted slightly on words that Reno didn’t understand.

Couldn’t understand because they were probably Wutaian, judging from the way Tseng’s lips moved.  He recognized the shape of those liquid syllables in Tseng’s mouth.

“Tseng,” he said again, and he pushed Tseng’s hair back over his shoulder.  Tseng jerked back, looking up at him for a moment, and then he managed a faint smile.

“Needed… to go somewhere,” Tseng finally murmured.  He looked away from Reno, around the room, and Reno wondered what, exactly, Tseng was seeing.  He was flushed, and Reno could smell the dried sweat even if Tseng appeared to have cooled back down.  There was the faintest undertone of metal, and Reno stepped in closer, dipping his head down to breathe in against Tseng’s throat.

Yeah.

Metal.  He’d been Below.  Below and drunk?

Reno pulled back, tilting his head to study Tseng.  Maybe he’d gotten drunk after he’d come back up.

“So you picked my place, yo?”  Reno raised an eyebrow, and Tseng managed a short bark of a laugh.  Nothing like the chuckle he normally gave.

“Where else could I go?”

“Depends, boss,” Reno replied, shrugging.  "Where you been?“

Tseng smiled, and he shook his head before he stepped in close to Reno again.  He tilted his head back, and Reno met his gaze steadily, watching the way Tseng’s lips parted, the way they pressed back together so he could swallow.  Then Tseng murmured, “Work.  You planning on just talking, Reno?”

Reno’s eyes narrowed.  Then he tangled his hand in the fall of Tseng’s hair, and he pulled.  Harder than he normally did, harder than was their thing.  When they did this thing.  He still wasn’t sure what to call it, what Tseng thought they were doing, but he wasn’t going to ask.  He wasn’t about to screw this up any more than he was already likely to.

“You want me doin’ more than jus’ talkin’, Tseng?” he breathed, leaning in until he was less than an inch from Tseng’s mouth.  He could taste the whiskey there, but while Tseng smelled like beer, there was none on his breath.  Only the whiskey.

(Neat, Reno would bet.  Pretty amber-filled glass of expensive ass whiskey that nearly shimmered in the soft lights Above.  It would have been nothing like the plastic and ceramic cups Below, nothing like the rotgut that he’d grown up drinking.  Tseng’s tastes were only slightly less expensive than the President’s, and sometimes, Reno got the impression that they were so expensive just because they could be.  Because Tseng could afford it.  It still didn’t explain what he was doing with Reno.)

“No,” Tseng retorted, and he grabbed the front of Reno’s shirt, pulled him in for the kiss that Reno had only been teasing.  Reno made a little noise against Tseng’s mouth, and he kissed Tseng back.  It wasn’t sweet.  How could it be, when Tseng was holding onto him hard enough that Reno thought his shirt might tear, when there were teeth and nipping, and honestly, Reno wouldn’t have been surprised in the slightest if he’d tasted blood.

It wouldn’t have been the first time.

He pulled Tseng’s hair harder, and when Tseng bit his lip, he dropped one hand down to cup Tseng’s ass and haul him up.  Tseng twisted in protest against him only until Reno turned them and Tseng could brace against the back of the couch, half sitting on it as he buried his hands in Reno’s hair.

Reno broke the kiss, and he pressed his face in against Tseng’s throat again.  He nipped this time, tasting the edge of Tseng’s pulse.  Feeling it race against the pressure of his tongue.  He opened his eyes, and he pulled Tseng’s hair once more, just enough to make Tseng look up at him.

His eyes weren’t quite focusing.  He wasn’t quite there.  But he’d come here anyway, out of his head and drunk and unwilling to be alone.  Reno swallowed.

“Water, yo,” he said with a sigh, but before he could pull away, Tseng shook his head, his fingers tightening on Reno’s hair.

“No,” Tseng breathed.  "Don’t… Not that far.“

“You want me talkin’, Tseng?”

Tseng hesitated, his eyes narrowing.  He sensed the trap, even if he was drunk, and Reno couldn’t stop the slow, too-sharp grin that spread over his own face.

“‘Cause if you do, then yeah, I’ll stay.  Otherwise, water, yo.”

Tseng snorted faintly at him, and finally, he let go, his hands sliding out of Reno’s hair down the front of his shirt instead.  His nails raked against the fabric, but nothing else.  Reno stayed right where he was, pressed up against Tseng, feeling him, before he finally pulled away.

Reno grabbed the first plastic cup he could find, rinsed it out, and filled it with water from the tap before he handed it off to Tseng, and he went ahead, while Tseng sipped the water, and pulled the bed out of the couch.

When Tseng had finished the cup, Reno pulled him over the back of the couch where he was still sitting, and down onto the bed.  Tseng slid easily, graceful even when his limbs were loose and his eyes were half closed.  For a long minute, that’s all they did.  Then Reno pulled Tseng closer, and he pressed his nose in against Tseng’s hair.  After just a moment, he managed to get his lips on the back of Tseng’s neck.

“I wanted to see,” Tseng breathed, and Reno went still, even his breath catching.  Tseng either didn’t notice or he knew exactly why Reno froze because, after just a second, he continued with, “Where you came from.  What made you.”

“You know what made me, yo,” Reno replied, barely giving the words enough voice to make them words.  They were almost simply shapes against the back of Tseng’s neck.  Tseng had a file on Reno thicker than Reno had ever thought possible.  He hadn’t known, before he’d joined the Turks at least, that he’d had that much of a paper trail for Shinra to follow.

“But I didn’t _know_.”

And that was always what it boiled down to, wasn’t it?  Knowing or _knowing_ , and understanding that it was impossible to really know anyone.

Reno’s eyes closed.

“An’ what, you do now?”

“No.”  Tseng leaned back against him, tilting his head forward, and he reached back to pull his hair around over his shoulder.  The motion gave the back of his neck to Reno’s mouth, gave up more vulnerability than either of them ever showed around each other.

Reno’s heart was racing suddenly.  Pounding too fast for his chest to hold.

What was the word for what they were doing?  Did Tseng even know?  Because Reno sure as hell didn’t.

“But I can feel it in you now.”

“Wutaian mumbo jumbo,” Reno countered, and he scraped his teeth against the skin under his mouth.  Tseng made a quiet noise, leaning back against him more.

“Maybe,” he whispered.

Before Reno could come up with something to counter that, Tseng turned, twisting around until he was facing Reno again.  Reno spared the briefest thought for the fact that Tseng still had his shoes on in the middle of Reno’s bed.  Inane, but it was better to focus on that than it was on the expression on Tseng’s face, the intensity that he looked at Reno with.

The last time he’d looked at Reno like that, Reno had been Above the Plate for the first time in his life only a few hours later.  He’d showered and was in the middle of fitting for a suit before he’d realized what, exactly, had happened.

That expression on Tseng’s face had proven to be the herald of a change in Reno’s life, and Reno wasn’t sure he was ready for another one when he was still adjusting to the last one.

“C'mon, let’s get those shoes–”

“Midgar,” Tseng said, reaching out to put his hand on Reno’s chest, holding him still.  "I can feel her in you.“

And then Tseng kissed him again, and this time, Reno let him.  Anything was a better option than hearing that Tseng _knew_ him somehow.


End file.
